I asked Ty one day if I would ever stop missing her.

And as I sit here still waiting to miscarry, other thoughts plague me.  When I wrote Enjoying YOUR Quiverfull, it was something I needed to hear.  I still need to hear it.  I still find myself wanting more children in an unhealthy way.  A way that seeks to “replace” the one I lost.

Because I never will stop missing her.

And I will NEVER have the right amount of children. (<— and that post still makes me cry)

And truthfully, I don’t feel like a large family.  I am facing my second miscarriage in a row and I wonder if the Lord will ever bless again and I know I can never bring the one back that would bring my number of living children to 7 (which somehow sounds so much “larger” than 6) and I wonder am *I* enjoying MY Quiverfull?  And do I have any validity when it comes to talking about being a large family.  There are multitudes out there with many, many more children than I have who could give you much better advice on running a large family household.  Who am I?  But, there I go again…playing the numbers game.

It’s been a rough few months leading up to the 4th anniversary of Emily’s passing.  Some days I am an emotional train wreck.  (I can say that and know that you will all still love me.)  But, the moments of wreckage come and go and for the most part, I am fully sane and mostly functioning (although the pregnancy hormones have done a number on my sacroiliac joint and my blood sugar).

And I refuse to live a life of wreckage.

Emily’s life and death are not the end.  Everything that happens to me while on this earth is not the end.  It makes no sense as a Christian to spend my life looking back and considering all that is behind me as wreckage.  All that is behind me has created the path that is before me.  And it is a good path…God says so.

I just have to keep walking.

{Dear Readers – I wrote this post this past weekend.  I miscarried this morning.  However, I thought I would still share these thoughts.  Thank you so much for your prayers.  We have truly been blessed through them all.}

I draw up a hot bath.

I drink that extra cup of coffee.

I turn my thoughts back toward losing weight and healing my diastasis.

and I wait.

This is my third miscarriage.  My last one was over 8 years ago.  I’ve had 5 children since then.  I’ve had an in-my-arms child die since then.  I am not the same person.

The miscarriage 8 years ago angered me.

I felt robbed.

so much I had to learn.

Now I learn how to stop looking for pregnancy symptoms and start looking for miscarriage symptoms.

Now I learn to wait patiently for a timing I do not know.

Baby has been gone for nearly 3 weeks.  I have known for less than 1 week.  And I wonder…

how much longer.

I began blogging long after my other miscarriages.  I’ve mentioned them in passing, but never have I blogged through a miscarriage.  I never really considered that The Grieving Mother would turn her heart this direction again…the direction of the loss of an unborn child…again.

It is different.

I saw a little heartbeat and a tiny form, but I did not hold this baby, nurse this baby, brush back wisps of hair on this baby.

This is a different shade of grief.  This grief mourns one I did not know.

Was it a boy?  That longed-for baby girl?  Brown hair or blond hair?  Blue eyes or flannel gray?  I will not know this side of heaven.

But for the first time, I am peaceful.

I’ve never experienced this kind of peace in light of a loss.  It is your prayers, I am sure.

Your prayers…and a God who has been faithful through some of the worst pain a mother could ever experience.

Yes, I am different.  I know life and I know death.

And I know Who holds the future.

This coming November I will be speaking at the Replenish Online Marriage Conference.

My topic?

Why Us, Lord
When tragedy strikes your marriage

Our marriage has had its fair share of events you might call tragedies, but nothing compares to the day we lost our daughter Emily.  Three and a half years later, I can honestly say there is beauty in the ashes of grief.

A lot of people do not seem to understand that.  They look at us and wonder how we could ever have healed from her death.  Yet, they cannot help but notice there is joy.

A little over a year ago, a young woman contacted me asking if I would permit her to choreograph a dance in honor of Emily.  I am always humbled and thankful when people mention my precious little girl and carrying on her memory in the name of Jesus Christ.  What she created from the gifts the Lord has given her was absolutely beautiful and I wanted to share them with you.

Rehearsal Video:
{click here if you cannot see the video}

Recital Night:
{click here if you cannot see the video}

The friends portrayed in the dance are real people. They are people like my dear friend, Sarah.

It was Sarah who cared for my other children that awful day.  It was Sarah who came to the emergency room unaware of what had just happened.  It was Sarah who sat beside me, listened on the phone and talked to me via the internet countless hours as I poured every ounce of myself out trying to make sense of it all.

And they are people like Lynnette who walked this road before me and walked this road alongside me.

She was there with coffee, notes of encouragement, and hope.  Hope that I would not always feel like this.  Hope that someday I would dance again.

People often wonder what they can do to help someone who grieves.  Watching the video above, you will see the answer.  You pick them up when they fall, you walk alongside them when they are weak and when they are strong, you rejoice.

And you look for beauty.

It is there.

And for those who grieve, do not despair when you see glimpses of beauty, wondering if it is okay for you to find your way back to happiness again.

It is.

We smile. We laugh. We live.

And it is beautiful.

it was 4 years later.

Emily as a newborn

4 years since that 4th of July afternoon when little Emily came into this world.

Emmy & big sis, Megan

And pictures that I have never shared here before bring comfort and a smile.

Thanksgiving with Emily

And I read through the three other birthday posts I have written…

Happy Birthday, Little One

A Day to “Celebrate”

When My Readers Bring Me to Tears

realizing every step of this journey has been different.  Every day is different.

I miss her.

Terribly.

I long for another girl.

My innocence is lost.

Forever.

But, time marches on.

Four years away.

Four years closer…

3 years ago, a small metal marker was placed at the head of my child’s grave site.

For 3 years I have lovingly trimmed the grass away from the edges, brushed the dirt from the letters, and brought wreaths to decorate.

The only thing left to do for my little Emily was to buy her a headstone.

So final.

And how do you find just the right words.  How do you put everything you want to say on one little block of stone…forever?

The April after her death, I dreamed of her stone.  I dreamed of a cross with a lamb and the words,

From our arms to His

etched into the grey rock.

I was obsessed with finding that stone, but as time marched on, I realized what I had dreamed was not practical.  I knew it had come from my walking through the cemetery and searching out all the old stones from children who had passed on a hundred years ago or more.  They do not make stones like that anymore and even if they did, it would be much too fragile.  It also wasn’t a reflection of us as a family.

It’s funny to me how we’ve needed her headstone to be a piece of us. We didn’t want to settle for just anything.  We wanted it to be unique.  And since the cemetery she is buried at had no restrictions on stones, we knew we could do just about anything we wanted.

So we searched.

I spent hours pouring over artisan stones on the internet, trying to find one that spoke of peace and hope.  A stone that would tell others how loved this little girl was and is.  A stone that would reach for the heavens with the same longing we feel as parents.

This is that stone…

No longer does her grave site sit bare.  There is a stone that reaches to Heaven.  There is a bench to rest weary hearts.  There is a Bible verse that has become dear to us.  There is a picture of our precious Emily and below her name are these words:

Final, but not finished.

For someday, Emily will have a new body and I will hold her again.

Until then, she is safe…

and loved.

~~ If you are looking to bless a grieving mother, one of my sponsors, Hope of My Heart, has some beautiful memory jewelry – the words stamped on them bring me to tears.~~